it were, with a double organ of sense; — either histo rically, by mere outward perception alone; or philo sophically, by inward spiritual vision; — and in this double aspect may the object of our present inquiries — the Nature of the Scholar — be surveyed. The his torical view lays hold of existing opinions about the object, selects from among them the most common and prevalent, regards these as truth, but thus obtains mere illusion and not truth. The philosophical view seizes upon things as they are in themselves, — i.e. in the world of pure thought, of which world God is the essential and fundamental principle, — and thus as God himself must have thought of them, could we attribute thought to him. Hence the inquiry, — What is the Nature of the Scholar? — as a philosophical question, means the following: — How must God conceive of the Nature of the Scholar, were he to conceive of it? In this spirit we have taken up the question, and in this spirit we have given it the following answer: — In the first place, God has conceived of the whole world, not only as it now is, but also as it shall become by its own spontaneous growth; moreover, what it now is lies in the original Divine Thought of it as the germ of an endless development, — a development indeed pro ceeding from the highest that exists in it, namely, from the rational beings, by means of their own freedom, If, then, these rational beings are to realize, by their own free act, that Divine Thought of the world as it ought to be, they must before all things comprehend and know this Thought. Now, this comprehension and knowledge of the original Divine Thought is un attainable by them, except on condition of a second Divine Thought; — this, namely, — that they who are LECTURE V. 297 to be thus gifted should comprehend the Thought. But those who are so distinguished in the Divine world-creative Thought, that they should in part com prehend that original Divine Thought, are therein con ceived of as Scholars; and, on the other hand, Scholars are possible and actually exist, where they do exist, only through the Divine Thought; and in that Divine Thought they are those who in part comprehend God in his original Thought of the world; — Scholars, namely, in so far as they have elevated themselves to that Divine Thought by the various means to the at tainment of the highest spiritual culture which exist in every age through the Divine Thought itself.
That Divine Thought of man as a Scholar must now itself take possession of him, and become his in nermost soul, the true essential life dwelling in his life. This can happen in two ways, either directly or indi rectly. If it lay hold of the man directly, it will form itself in him, spontaneously and without outward aid, into such a knowledge of the Divine Plan of the uni verse as can find a place in that individual; all his thoughts and impulses will of themselves take the most direct way to this end; whatever he does, prompted by this thought, is good and right, and must assuredly prosper, for it is an immediately divine act. This phe nomenon we call Genius. In individual cases it can never be determined whether a man is, or is not, the subject of this immediate influence of the Divine Thought.
Or, the second and generally applicable case is when the Divine Thought of man as a Scholar lays hold of, inspires and animates him indirectly. He finds himself necessitated to study by his position, which, 298 THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
being determined without his assistance, he must re gard as the purpose of God. He enters upon this vocation, in consequence of the thought that it is the purpose of God in him and for him, with Integrity; for so we call the faith that God has a purpose in our being. By thus embracing his vocation not merely because it is his, but because it is made his solely by the Divine Thought and purpose, does his person as well as knowledge, which is his calling, become to him, before all other things, honourable and holy. It was this last-mentioned thought of which we treated parti cularly in our previous lecture, and which we purpose to follow out to-day.
This thought of the divinity and holiness of his vocation is the soul of his life, the impulse which pro duces all that goes forth from him, the aether in which everything around him is bathed. His conduct and doings in the outward world must then harmonize with this thought. He needs no conscious exertion of his individual will to bring his actions into harmony with this Divine Thought; he needs not to exhort, urge, or compel himself to this harmony, for he can not possibly act otherwise: were he to endeavour to act in opposition to it, then he would need to persuade, to urge, to compel himself to that course, but without success.
Keep this steadfastly in view while we now pass from the idea of the true-minded Scholar, to its outward manifestation. Our Morality, — if it be Morality which we now propound to you, — our Morality does not enact laws; like all philosophy, it confines itself to nature and necessity, and only describes what does and does not flow from these. Could this Morality permit LECTURE V. 299 LECTURE V. 299 itself an external wish, and hope for its realization, it would be to strike the hard and barren rock which confines the fountain of good, so that its waters might spontaneously gush forth in their original purity to enrich the inward juices of the tree; but it would never desire with idle art to engraft thereon foreign fruits which cannot grow from such a stock. Hence I shall not even touch upon many tilings which might seem appropriate in this place; and of many others upon which I do touch, I shall speak with moderation, — not as if I did not know that these things have other aspects under which they must be spoken of with greater severity, but because I shall here only judge the Actual by the holiness of the Ideal, which must on no account be dragged down to certain depths of degradation. Let who will be teacher of external Morality, we shall not here come into contact with the vulgar who find their motives to action in impulses from without.
We have already said that the acceptance of his vo cation by the Student as a Divine Thought, makes his own person holy and honourable to him. This view of his person will spontaneously manifest itself in his outward life, without direct thought and will upon his part, as sacred purity and freedom from all constraint; —not expressly recognised as such by himself, but because no other mode of life falls within his range of thought.
To describe his life in one word: — he shuns the con tact of the vulgar and ignoble. Where these meet him, he draws back, like the well-known sensitive plant which shrinks from the touch of our finger. Where aught vulgar or ignoble is present, he is not to be 300 THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
found; — it has forced him from it, before it came near to him.
What is vulgar and ignoble? So asks not he; — his inward sense prompts, in every case, an imme diate answer. We only put the question, in order to describe his refined life, and to delight ourselves in contemplating the picture.
Everything is vulgar and ignoble which degrades the fancy and blunts the taste for the Holy. Tell me what direction thy thoughts take, — not when thou with tightened hand constrainest them to a purpose, — but when in thy hours of recreation thou allowest them freely to rove abroad; tell me what direction they then take, where they naturally turn as to their most loved home, in what thou thyself in the innermost depths of thy soul findest thy chief enjoyment; — and then I will tell thee what are thy tastes. Are they directed towards the Godlike, and to those things in nature and art wherein the Godlike most directly reveals itself in im posing majesty? — then is the Godlike not dreadful to thee, but friendly; thy tastes lead thee to it, — it is thy most loved enjoyment. Do they, when released from the constraint with which thou hast directed them to wards a serious pursuit, eagerly turn to brood over sensual pleasures, and find relaxation in the pursuit of these? — then hast thou a vulgar taste, and thou must invite animalism into the innermost recesses of thy soul, before it can seem well with thee there. Not so the noble Student. His thoughts, when exhausted by exertion and toil, return in moments of relaxation to the Holy, the Great, the Sublime, — there to find repose, refreshment, and new energy for yet higher efforts. In nature as well as in the Arts, in Poetry LECTURE V. 301 and in Music, he seeks for the Sublime, and that in its great and imposing style. In Poetry for example, and in Oratory, he delights in the lofty voices of the ancient world; and, among the moderns, in that only which is produced and interpenetrated by the spirit of the ancients. Amusements in which the form of art is thrown around unmeaning emptiness, or even pro ductions which appeal to the senses alone, and strive to please man by awakening and exciting his animal nature, — these have no charms for him. It is not necessary for him to consider beforehand how hurtful they might prove to him; — they do not please him, and he can acquire no liking for them.
The man of mature age may indeed turn his thoughts to such perversions, that he may discover in themselves the evidence of their perversion, and so laugh at them: he is secure from their contagion. Not so the inex perienced youth; a secret voice calls him back from them altogether. The man of ripe years, who is no longer occupied in forming his Ideal, but now seeks to impress it on the actual world, — he has to deal with perversion, and must pursue it through all its doublings and turnings, into its most secret haunts; and he cannot do this without contemplating it. Our hatred of the vulgar becomes weakened and blunted by time, by the experience that the foolishness of the world suffers no abatement, and that almost the only certain advantage which can be gained from it is a laugh at its expense. But the youth cannot thus contemplate life, — he must not thus contemplate it. Every period of life has its peculiar calling. Good- natured laughter at vulgarity belongs to ripened age; the attitude of youth towards it ought to be that of DC!
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stern aversion, — and no one will be able in after years to look on it, and to laugh at it, and yet remain truly free and pure from its taint, who does not begin in youth by avoiding and hating it. Jesting is not suited for youth, — they know little of man who think so; where youth is wasted in sport, it will never attain to earnestness and true existence. The portion of youth in life is the Earnest and the Sublime; — only after such a youth does maturity attain to the Beautiful, and with it to sportful enjoyment of the Vulgar.
Further, everything is vulgar and ignoble which weakens spiritual power. I shall instance idleness; — to mention drunkenness or sensuality would be below the dignity of our subject. To live without occupation of any sort, — to cast a dull unmeaning gaze around us, will soon make our minds dull and unmeaning. This propensity to non-existence, to spiritual torpor, becomes a habit, a second nature; it surprises us in our studies or while listening to our teacher, creates a chasm in what would otherwise be a strictly con nected whole, interposes itself here and there between ideas which we should have bound together, so that we cannot comprehend even those which are most easy and intelligible. How this propensity should seize upon youth, may well remain unaccountable even to men of the deepest penetration and judgment; and in most cases it would be no delusion to seek its cause in some secret infirmity or vice. Youth is the age of newly- developed power; everywhere there are still impulses and principles destined to burst forth into new creations; — the peculiar character of youth is restless and uninterrupted activity; left to itself, it can never be without occupation. To see it slothful LECTURE V. 303 LECTURE V. 303 is the sight of winter in the time of spring, the blight and withering of a newly-opened flower. Were it naturally possible that this idleness should attempt to gain dominion over the true-minded and virtuous Stu dent, he would never for a moment endure it. In the Eternal Thought of God his spiritual power has its source; it is thus his most precious treasure, and he will not suffer it to fall into impotent rigidity before it has fulfilled its task. lie watches unceasingly over himself, and never allows himself to rest in slothful inaction. It is only for a short period that this exertion of the will is needed; afterwards, its result continues of itself, for it is happily as easy, — or even more easy, because it is more natural, — for man to accustom himself to industry than to idleness, and after a time passed in sustained activity, it becomes impossible for him to live without employment.
Lastly, everything is vulgar and ignoble which robs man of respect for himself, of faith in himself, and of the power of reckoning with confidence upon himself and his purposes. Nothing is more destructive of character than for man to lose all faith in his own resolutions, because he has so often determined, and again determined, to do that which nevertheless he has never done. Then he feels it necessary to flee from himself; he can no longer turn inward to his own thoughts, lest he be covered with shame before them; he shuns no society so much as his own, and deliberately gives himself up to dissipation and self- forgetfulness. Not so the upright Student: he keeps his purpose; and whatever he has resolved to do, that he does, were it only because he has resolved to do it. For the same reason, — that he must be guided by his 304 THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
own purpose and his own insight, — he will not become u slave to the opinion of others, or even to the general opinion. It is doubtless of all things most ignoble, when man, — out of too great complacency, which at bottom is cowardice and wrant of spirit, or out of in dolence, which prevents him from thinking for himself, and drawing the principles of his conduct from his own mind, — gives himself up to others, and relies upon them rather than upon himself. Such an one has indeed no self within him, and believes in no self within him, but goes as a suppliant to others, and entreats of them, one after another, to lend him their personality. How can such an one regard himself as honourable and holy, when he neither knows nor ac knowledges his own being?
I have said that the true-minded Student will not make himself a slave to common opinion; nevertheless he will accommodate himself to established customs where these are in themselves indifferent, simply be cause he honours himself. The educated youth growrs up amid these customs; were he to cast them off, he must of necessity deliberately resolve to do so, and attract notice and attention to himself by his singu- arities, and his offences against decorum. How should he whose time is occupied with weightier matters find leisure to ponder such a subject? Is the matter so important, and is there no other way in which he can distinguish himself, that he must take refuge in a petty peculiarity? " No! " answers the noble-minded Student; " I am here to comprehend weightier things than outward manners, and I will not have it appear that I am too awkward to understand these. I will not by such littleness cause myself and my class to LECTURE V. 305 be despised and hated by the uncharitable, or good- naturedly laughed at by those of better disposition; my fellow-citizens of other classes, or of my own, my teachers, my superiors, shall have it in their power to honour and respect me as a man, in every relation of human life."
And thus in all his relations does the life of the studious youth, who respects himself, flow on — blame less and lovely.
OF ACADEMICAL FREEDOM.
THE point which we had attained at the close of last lecture in our portraiture of the Student to whom his own person had become holy through the view of his vocation as a Divine Thought, was the considera tion of his outward manners. With this subject is connected an idea, frequently broached, but seldom duly weighed, — the idea of the Academical Freedom of the Student. Much, indeed, of what has been said in treating of this subject lies below the dignity of these lectures; and, only in proceeding further will we be able to find a way of elevating it to our own standard. Hence I not only cheerfully admit that the discussion of this idea, which I hope to accomplish to day, is a mere episode in my general plan; I must even entreat you so to consider it. But although this is a subject which one is, almost unconsciously, disposed to pass over altogether in a review of the moral beha viour of the Student, yet I do not hold this discussion to be one whit less legitimate because it is commonly avoided, and quite properly avoided, since it may so easily degenerate into polemics or satire, from both of which we are secured by the tone of these lectures.
What is Academic freedom? The answer to this question is our task for to-day. As every object may LECTURE VI. 307 be looked upon from a double point of view, — partly historical, partly philosophical, — so may the subject of our present inquiry. Let us, in the first place, survey it from the historical point of view, — i. e. let us try to discover what they meant by it who first al lowed and introduced Academic Freedom.
Academies have always been considered as higher schools, in contrast with the lower preparatory schools or schools properly so called; — hence the student at the academy as distinguished from the pupil at the school. The freedom of the former could thus only be understood to be emancipation from some constraint to which the latter was subject. The pupil, for example, was compelled to appear at his class in a particular kind of clothing, which in those days indicated the dignity of the future Scholar; he dared not neglect his fixed hours of study; and he had many other duties imposed upon him, which were then regarded as a sort of sacred service preparatory to the future spiritual office to which the Student was usually destined, — as for instance, choir-singing. In all these respects he was subject to strict and constant inspection; — the transgressor was often ignominiously punished; and indeed the teacher himself was both overseer and judge. Meanwhile Universities arose; and the outward, un learned world would naturally be inclined to place them under similar regulations to those adopted in the only educational institutions with which it was familiar, — i. e. such as it saw in the schools. But this did not ensue, — and it was impossible that it should ensue. The founders of the first Universities were Scholars of distinguished talent and energy; they had fought their way through the surrounding darkness of 308 THE NATURE OF THE SCHOLAR.
their age to whatever insight they possessed; they were wholly devoted to their scientific pursuits, and lived in them alone; they were encompassed by a brilliant reputation; in the circles of the great they were esteemed, honoured, consulted as oracles. They could never condescend to assume the position of over seers and pedagogues towards their hearers. Hence it was, that they held in great contempt the teachers of the lower schools, from whose level they had raised themselves by their own ability; and for that reason they would neither practise, nor allow themselves to be distinguished by, those things which characterized the former. Their call assembled around them hun dreds and thousands from all countries of Europe; the number of their hearers increased both their impor tance and their wealth; and it could not be expected that they should give annoyance in any shape to those who brought such benefits to them. Besides, how was it possible that young men, with whom they had but a passing acquaintance among hundreds of their fellows, — who in a few months, a year, or at most a few years, would return to distant homes, — should interest them closely, or engage their affections? — Neither the moral demeanour nor the scientific pro gress of their hearers interested them; and in these days a well-known Latin adage which speaks of " taking gold and sending home," very naturally arose. Academic Freedom had arisen, as emancipation from the constraints of school, and from all supervision on the part of the teacher over the morality, industry, or scientific progress of the Student, who was to him a hearer and nothing more.
This is one side of the picture. It can easily be LECTURE VI. 309 imagined, and, on the supposition that no very high standard of morality then existed, it might very natu rally occur, that these founders of the early universities did so think of this matter, and that a portion of this mode of thought has come down to us through past centuries. Let us now look at the other side.
What, then, was the natural and reasonable effect of this idea of Academical Freedom on the minds of the Students? Could they have thought themselves highly honoured by this indifference on the part of their teacher to their moral dignity and scientific improve ment? — and could they have demanded this indiffer ence as a sacred right? I cannot believe it, — for this indifference amounts to disregard and contempt of the Student, and it is most offensive to tell him to his face by such conduct — " I care not what you become." — Or would it have been natural for them to conclude, from the carelessness of others about their moral de meanour and regular application to study, that there fore they themselves were entitled to neglect these things if they chose? and would they have acted rea sonably had they made their Academic Freedom only a right to be immoral and indolent? I cannot believe it. Much more reasonable would it have been, had they determined, because of this want of foreign su perintendence, to exercise a stricter surveillance over themselves; if out of this freedom from outward con straint had arisen a clearer perception of their duty to urge themselves onward so much the more powerfully, to watch over themselves so much the more inces santly, and to look upon their Academic Freedom as liberty to do all that is right and becoming by their own free determination.
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In short, the Academic Freedom of the Student, taken historically, according to its actual introduction into the world, exhibits in its origin, in its progress, and in what of it still exists, an unjust and indecent contempt for the whole class of Students, as a most insignificant class; and the Student who considers him self honoured by this Freedom, and lays claim to it as a right, has fallen into a most extraordinary delusion; — he is certainly ill informed, and has never seriously reflected on the subject. It may indeed become the well-disposed man of riper years, who is always ready to turn an indulgent eye upon life and youth, to avert his attention from the awkwardness, the rudeness, and the many errors into which unbridled energy is apt to fall, goodnaturedly to laugh at these, and to think that wisdom will come with years; but the youth who feels himself honoured by this judgment, and even demands it as his due, cannot be supposed to possess a very de licate sense of honour.